


Defeating Demons

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Defeating demons is easier with a loved one by one's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeating Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Defeating Demons  
> Pairing(s): Bilbo/Thorin  
> Rating: PG - 13  
> Warnings: mentions of PTSD, modern AU  
> Word Count: 1,224  
> Disclaimer: I DON’T own anyone or anything. I DON’T own the characters. The fanfic is written for fun, NOT for profit.

War had left its marks on all of them. Some had healed, leaving behind not more than a scar upon rough skin. Others, however, would never fully close, would continue to bleed, would show their ugly faces at night in form of nightmares, disturbing restless sleep.

According to the others, those who had fought by his side and went through hell with him, Thorin struggled the most. Of course he would meet such accusations with a frown and dismissal. What did they expect from him? Keeping his thoughts to himself, no one would be bothered by the demons that would rise on far too many occasions, would try to tear him apart from the inside at times.

And those demons were strong. They would attack at night, rise him from his sleep, leaving him breathless, sweaty and shaking. They would attack during the day, when the world suddenly spun out of control, when his breath got stuck in his lungs, when even an ordinary street in London appeared to be a dangerous mine field.

But Thorin wasn’t one to share. He was the one to carry the burden: of his troops in war, of his friends whenever they broke down after an especially hard session with the therapist, and his very own. He didn’t want pity looks and understanding pats on his back. He didn’t want to visit a stranger and talk about those disturbing images in his mind while they nodded their head in mock understanding although they had no idea what it was like to wince at every loud noise, tense at every touch, yell at night when the demons came.

So, naturally, Thorin had been weary of the guy an old friend had introduced to him. Bilbo Baggins was a psychologist, so the last person the former soldier wanted to be around. He felt watched at first, analysed even. Was Bilbo trying to read his mind, trying to find out if Thorin fitted into the stereotype of a PTSD-suffering veteran? Whenever they met, he put on the frown and mask, prepared to be asked those therapist-questions that would have to be asked eventually.

But they never came. Very soon, Thorin started to forget that the guy across of him was one of those people he loathed because of their tendency to dig into one’s past. Bilbo was smart, kind and with a sense of humour that managed to distract him somehow. Things got more intimate rather soon, despite Thorin’s best intentions. He fooled himself with reassuring his hesitant mind that things wouldn’t get serious.

It worked. For a while.

Then, one of the worse demons hit him again. His eyes flew open as he gasped for air that wouldn’t fill his lungs the way he needed it to. Every muscle in his body felt tense, unable to relax. The darkness seemed to swallow him, increasing the cold fear that held his heart in a tight grip. He barely registered the movements by his side, wasn’t even aware of the other person’s presence until the lights were switched on. His eyes darted to the forgotten lover, meeting the calm gaze of Bilbo as he looked back. A hand came to rest on his arm, working like an anchor but still allowing him much needed space.

No words were spoken, no useless attempts at reassuring Thorin that he would be okay, that he was safe. Of course he was. He knew that since he had become aware of his surroundings. There were no enemies around, he couldn’t hear shots being fired, the sound of explosions, of orders and questions being barked into the dark of the night. Of course no one was going to harm him…

So what? Did that erase the images that were burnt into his mind forever? Did that make him forget the fear of losing his brothers, the constant pressure of succeed? Failure wasn’t acceptable. Mistakes led to death. The circumstances had changed, but the demons were still inside him, slumbering until they would rise again and bring back all the pain, all the fear. No amount of reassuring whispers and gentle touches could change that.

And Bilbo knew it. He waited until Thorin managed to get his breathing under control again. He gave his arm a squeeze before he got up and quietly left the room. He made just enough noise in the kitchen so Thorin knew he was still there. He returned minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. Wordlessly, the mug was pushed into still trembling hands. Thorin needed a while until he took a first sip, the hot drink with the sweet scent sending little waves of comfort through his stiff body. Bilbo sat by his side, hand once again resting upon his arm, gently lingering there. He didn’t watch Thorin, didn’t look away on purpose either though.

He was just...there. Minutes turned into an hour and still no word disturbed the silence of the gently lit room. Ever so slowly, Thorin’s racing heart returned to a normal rhythm. The shivering stopped. The images were still lingering in the back of his mind, would for at least another few hours to a day. But for once, he didn’t feel like the demons wouldn’t be strong enough to overwhelm him, to drive him into a never-ending downwards spiral of madness. He felt anchored: by the mug warming his hands, the tea warming his stomach, the hand upon his arm and the living person by his side. He could hear Bilbo breathing, could feel the warmth of his body. As he turned carefully, he could see sleep-tousled hair, and that calm expression that asked for nothing. That was just there.

Feeling the gaze upon himself, Bilbo turned as well. The hint of a smile lit his face as he met Thorin’s eyes. Thorin could see the thoughts that were running through the other man’s mind, but none of them spilled out when he asked, “Would you like another mug of tea? There’s more in the kitchen.”

“It’s okay.” Thorin tried to return the warm smile, knew he failed, but it didn’t matter. He could see it didn’t matter at all. He paused until he could add, “Thank you. You know, for…”

“It’s okay,” Bilbo interrupted, the tiny smile widening a little. “See...I know you were weary of me at first. Can’t blame you. I’m not your therapist though. Not gonna to try and get into your mind. Especially not now that I’m sleeping with you because doing that with a patient...nah.” He winked as Thorin couldn’t help a little chuckle. “However, I do have my experiences, and I’m not going to pity you. If you ever want to talk to me though, do. Until then...be assured that I’m here. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Thorin nodded, and once again knew that no further response was expected from him. He finished his mug of tea with Bilbo by his side. A couple of minutes later, the lights were switched out again. He knew the demons would rise again: if not this night, certainly during another one. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a certain hint of optimism. Because for once, his burden was shared, in a subtle way he could accept, and that didn’t feel so bad after all.


End file.
